One Man's Thoughts
by cowgirlfromhell
Summary: ATF/AU - Ezra Standish has gone undercover and disappeared...but not before shooting two of his teammates. Spelling and grammatical errors are intentional. Mog's Magnificent Seven ATF AU. Written for GG 2001.
1. Chapter 1

M7

I close my eyes and familiar but misplaced faces float before me, most dead years before. Two faces are brighter. perhaps newer, than the others but equally as dead. The one, a young man with deep blue eyes and long, golden brown hair and the other, even younger with hazel eyes and dark brown, almost black hair. Both of them are smiling at me as if the horrible events of the recent past have never transpired but I know the events have come to pass though they are all jumbled in my head. I do know that they are dead...because I killed them.

Vin

I see 'im. We both see 'im. He's standin' here, big as life, on the sidewalk outside ma place. How? How'd he get here? How'd he get away from Cain? I see 'im. J.D. sees 'im, too, and the kid looks to me for an explanation. He's lookin' right at us but not really seein' us. He looks scared. I see 'im and I see the gun. I just don't believe it 'cause he takes aim at J.D. and fires once. The kid goes down, smackin' his head on the cement. I'm next and the bullet slams into ma gut and the next thing I know I'm sittin' on the ground and leaning up against the building. He goddamn shot me...and J.D.! He drops the gun on the sidewalk. It takes a bounce and lands near the kid but he ignores it. 'sted he walks over to a yella' Mustang and gets in. I can't see the driver or the plate 'cause people have started to gather 'round us blockin' ma view. It hurts so fuckin' much...in my gut…and in my heart. The two of us, gunned down by a friend we trusted. How could he? Why would he? Everythin' about the last few minutes is wrong...all wrong...crazy wrong. He was afraid of us, terrified more like it...and he was filthy.

Buck

A car speeds by me and I catch a glimpse of him sitting in the passenger seat of a Mustang. I recognize him and he looks right at me but there's no recognition no expression at all on his face. I turn the corner onto the street that runs by Vin's apartment building and see a crowd gathering. I'm supposed to pick up J.D. and, when I hear a woman scream, I throw my ATF 'PARK WHERE EVER THE FUCK YOU WANT TO' pass on the dash and double-park right in front. I can't see what the commotion is all about but I do smell gunpowder. Someone says a couple of guys have been shot.

I see Vin first. Man, his face is so white, his eyes so blue against it. J.D.'s layin' on the sidewalk a few feet from him and a pool of blood's gathering underneath his head and I freak the fuck out and start pushin' people outta the way. Dialin' 911 I check on J.D.. He's out cold but his pulse is strong and, despite the fact that a bullet's gone clean through his shoulder, most of the blood is coming from a gash on the back of his head. I check Vin out next. He's gaspin' for air from the pain of the bullet that's just torn into him. He's cold and clammy, probably goin' into shock. He grabs my shirtfront and wheezes out one word... "Ezra."

"I saw him buddy. We'll pick him up pronto," I assure him and yank off my shirt. I wad it up and press it to Vin's abdomen trying to stop the flow of blood. I can't tend to them both and look pleadingly at the bystanders. We'll help senior Vin. It's the group of boys Vin helps out any way he can. They kneel down beside him and I hand over the task of keeping Vin from bleeding out to them. They're anxious to help their amigo and press on that towel like there's no tomorrow.

I move over to sit on the sidewalk and cradle J.D.'s head in my lap. Someone hands me a towel and I wipe some of the blood off the kid's face and press it to the gash while someone else presses another towel to his shoulder. While I'm waitin' for the ambulance I call it in and tell Chris the little prick's gone rogue on us. He doesn't seem all that surprised. He calls in the plate number. Car's stolen. No big surprise there.

The ambulance arrives and J.D. and Vin are quickly and expertly tended to. I follow the rig to the hospital anyway and wait until the others come. When the doctors finally tell us that the two of them are out of immediate danger, Chris and I leave to toss Ezra's condo.

Chris

I want him to be here. I want to jack him up so badly I'm actually shaking. I let Buck take point 'cause if I run into him first I'm gonna take his fuckin' head off. The place is cold and sparsely furnished and I still can't tell if he's comin' or goin'. Unpacked boxes line the walls...or are they newly packed?

Someone's been here all right. All the rooms are untouched except for the master bedroom and bath. Stinking, filthy clothes are heaped on the floor and the closet doors and dresser drawers are open. Damp towels are lying on the bathroom floor. A blackened, bent spoon and blood soaked cotton balls are in the sink. A few drops of nearly dried blood are on the sink apron all damning pieces to a puzzle. We bag and tag it all.

I call Josiah and tell him to put a surveillance detail on the place in case he comes back and to put out a description of the Jag. He says IAD is already at the hospital wanting to talk to J.D. and Vin. I tell him to keep the bastards away until I can get back there and I start the arduous process of protecting two of my own. Protecting two of my own and hunting down another. Hunting him down like the rabid dog he's become.

Vin

I can't get outta bed yet, can't even sit up. I'm sure gonna make Ezra pay. Every time I move this damn catheter feels like a cat scratchin' ma dick. The doc says the bullet didn't do too much damage. Easy for him to say. Says I should be up and around in a week, maybe on ma way home in a couple more. I just want outta here. It's been pretty lonely what with J.D. on another floor and the others pullin' double duty. If I could only get up I know I could make it to the front door and hitch a ride home. Aw, hell, nobody in his right mind would voluntarily go into Purgatorio...at night anyway. I still don't know what the hell's goin' on, why Ezra went loco. The pain meds help and, when I don't wanna think about it anymore, I just hit that button and I'm a goner.

J.D.

I am a free man! I gotta go see Vin and rub it in. A week's all you get for a shoulder wound and a busted head. A gut shot gets you a whole lot longer. I guess I'm gonna be okay, except for the nightmares. I haven't told anyone about 'em. Don't wanna be known as a nut job. Maybe Casey can get me some of that god-awful, all natural, hippie tea she likes to drink, the kind that's 'spose to help you sleep. I'm kind of afraid to take all the pills they're sending home with me. What if I end up crazy, too, like Ezra?

Josiah

God knows this is an utter waste of time. Nathan knows it too but when the big dog barks we jump. Buck's checking airport and bus terminal parking lots for the Jag. We could've drawn that shit assignment. Funny, but I can't picture Ezra letting Greyhound do the driving. He's not coming back. At least not here, especially with the two of us sitting down the street from his condo in this sore thumb of an unmarked cop car. He's ex FBI for Christ's sake. There's no way in hell he's not gonna spot us.

Buck

Now I even dream about that candy ass foreign car. I've been lookin' for the piece a crap for weeks now. Someone told me Ford owns Jaguar. Say it ain't so. At least Chevy didn't up and buy 'em. That woulda been just too hard to swallow. I have absolutely no luck findin' the car or the man. He's gone, plain and simple. No one's booked any flights or bought any bus tickets remotely resembling him. No contact with anyone. Intel says he's not back with Cain but then intel told us bringin' down Cain would be a piece a cake. What the fuck do they know anyway?

Chris

I knew the man was good when I hired him but even I can't believe how completely he's gone to ground. Not a trace of him in seven weeks. Almost two months and nothing since the money transfer into his bank account. A suspiciously large amount as untraceable as the man himself and untouched to this day. For a job well done?

J.D.'s shoulder has healed up nicely and Vin's almost back up to speed. He's working diligently on a report and I see him turn toward Ezra's desk from time to time as if to ask for help. J.D. checks Ezra's computer a couple of times a day for some sort of contact but there's been nothing but business and personal emails, the latter dwindling with no replies forthcoming.

The department's placed him on unpaid administrative leave. The SAC wants to terminate him and at times I want to terminate him, too, in the literal sense of the word. J.D. and Vin are the reasons I haven't taken that particular thought any further...that and the fact that no one can find the son of a bitch. The two of them are convinced that Cain is behind it all. They got the distinct impression something had gone terribly wrong during their last contact with Ezra. He never saw or spoke to them again after that...until he gunned them down in Purgatorio.

We keep searching in our spare time. Other cases have taken precedence until something concrete breaks. The FBI has joined in the search but they haven't had any better luck than us. Seems he' gotten his money's worth out of their training.

Vin

I wanna slap the shit outta the SAC. He's obsessed with Ezra, can't bear the thought of one of his agents goin' rogue on his watch. He wants 'im so bad he won't let up on me. Keeps askin' if I remember anything else about that last meetin' we had with 'im. I told the man everything, how Ez called us from Cain's place four days after we dropped him off. We thought it was to pick him back up but when we got there things went down the shitter real quick.

He looked like total crap. Had on clothes that weren't his. No style, ta say the least and long sleeves in 100-degree plus heat. He hadn't shaved in a while either. Ezra Standish had gone under as a hotshot businessman, Elias Perrin, from Atlanta but that day he was lookin' more like a homeless bum from Capital Hill. Said he'd be stayin' at Cain's 'stead a his hotel and handed off the card key to J.D. "When hospitality is offered," he said, "a gentleman can hardly refuse."

His lips were movin' but his eyes were tellin' a whole 'nother story. They were fever bright, flickin' here then there, goin' dull then sharp again. Kept rubbin' his arms, too. That's when I saw the blood on his sleeves. "You all right, Mr. Perrin?" I asked. Nothing I cannot handle, he said. I pushed again trying to get a fix on the situation. "Listen, if there's a problem..."

"Your boss has dismissed you boys." It was Cain backed up by two of his well heeled muscle. He took Ez's arm and pulled 'im back away from us and that's when I saw the fear in Ez's eyes, the fear behind the drugs. J.D. an' I had no choice but to leave 'im. We didn't wanna, even talked about goin' back in but knew it would only get us both killed. Cain had Ezra and there wasn't fuck all we could do about it.

I'm back at my desk after talking to the SAC...again...and start to relax a little after the grillin' when J.D.'s shout has me up and outta my seat again.

J.D.

"I found the Jag!" I jump up from my computer and run smack into Buck who has hurried over from his desk. Goddamn, that hurts! My shoulder's pretty well healed up but it hurts like hell when I collide with a 6 foot 1 inch, 180-pound solid object. Buck apologizes like crazy. I wish he would just slap me up side of my head and tell me to idle down...like he used to. Things haven't gotten back to 'abnormal' around here yet. Probably won't 'till that desk in front of ours is filled again.

I look at the window in Chris' office. Another FBI agent is in there talkin' to him. They know Ezra has probably crossed state lines and they want in on the hunt but they don't know which state. I do. He was in California six weeks ago. The title work to his beloved Jag just came through DMV. Sold it outright to Sunset Motors in LA and, boy Ezra, you got screwed.

I look over Buck's shoulder as he sits at my desk takin' down the info. He looks up at me and nods. I reach over his shoulder and point and click. The file is now deleted... like it was never there. We try to stay one step ahead of the FBI. We want to be the ones to bring him in. I'm anxious to find him but dread the first meeting. What if he really wanted me 'n' Vin dead like people say?

Buck7

I use J.D.'s phone and punch up Sunset Motors and ask for the manager. When I ask about the Jag he starts a tongue tap dance and hooks me up with the salesman who made the deal. The prick describes the seller. "Thick, longish, red-brown hair…spooky green eyes...southern accent...desperate for money...thin and twitchy...sick maybe...drugs more likely...seen it all here in LA. Paid him cash as soon as he signed over the title... walked out the door and into the night...another satisfied customer." I tell the little weasel that someone from ATF will be out to impound the car. He starts whining and hands me back to his manager. I hand him off to mine.

Chris

I usher the FBI agent none too gently out of my office and head back to where Buck, Vin and J.D. are huddled around the kid's desk. I read the notes on Buck's pad. He's written that the manager says the car has already been sold. I grab the phone and spell it out for the dickhead in no uncertain terms. "Have the car in his lot day after tomorrow. We'll be out to impound it as evidence in the attempted murder of two federal agents and he'll be an accessory after the fact if the car isn't there!" I slam the phone receiver down. I know the car will be there.

I need to make arrangements to hand off assignments and book flights to LA. This is the first break we've gotten. The son of a bitch dropped off the face of the earth until today. The trail's cold but the drug community is relatively small and a doper will sell out his mother for an eight ball and a yuppie type, with a penchant for thousand dollar suits and hundred dollar words, shouldn't be that hard to find...even in LaLa land.

Josiah

I spot the Jag right off, immaculate as always. There's a dealer's plate on it and I grab it as Chris and I walk to the building. Inside in a large showroom expensive classics and newer cars surround us. None of the sales people approach us. We must have 'cop' written all over us. If we're going to pump crack heads and junkies for information, we'll need to change tactics or at least clothes. I'll just appeal to their Godliness and if that fails I can always fall back on a ham fist wrapped around a scrawny throat. Seems to reach 'em when the Good Lord doesn't.

I look out the window and see the others crawling all over the Jag now. They're looking for something... anything. Chris hands the toady manager the paperwork to impound the car and the fussy little man complains bitterly assuring us he purchased the car in good faith...for a quarter of it's true worth, you shit heel! I'm delighted to see the bastard on the receiving end of a Chris Larabee tirade. The car will defiantly still be here when we get back.

Vin

I stand in the part of L.A. ya don't see on TV, the underbelly, the Sunset Strip. The sun's gone down and they're out in droves. Dealers on every corner. Young kids, male and female, offerin' themselves up for money, for drugs. They come up ta me as I make my way down the sidewalk, wanna know if I want a blowjob, only twenty bucks. A dealer comes up offerin' crack cocaine.

I stand with my hands jammed deep in my leather jacket pockets, my gun in the holster in the small of ma back. "Don't want crank," I tell 'im. Need something harder…body bag." He trusts me...must be the long hair. He pulls a glassine from his jacket. Ten bucks. Ten bucks and 70% pure. No wonder horse is the drug a choice nowadays. I pass 'im the money and he hands me the packet. It takes less than thirty seconds and he's truckin' on down the sidewalk.

"Need a safe place," I call out ta 'im. He gives me the address of a nearby shootin' gallery and I head out ta find the cross street. I turn right and keep walkin' into an industrial area, toward an abandoned warehouse where people scurry inside out of the night, scurry like rats. Inside I act like I'm high, trippin' over somebody...a young kid with bad skin and bad breath. I tell 'im I'm lookin' for ma brother. Nah, he ain't seen 'im. I sit, talk with the rest of the druggies and watch as they shoot up, smoke and shabang and come up with nothin'. He ain't here but I do score another address and head on back out. Must be hundreds of filthy, stinkin' places like this to search.

Chris

As the sun starts to come up I see the others standing around the rental cars parked just off the strip. I can see the exhaustion on their faces, the disappointment. Nothing...we got nothing. Vin hands me his packets, as do the others. I'll flush everything when we get back to the motel. It amazes me what these men will do for one of their own. Is he still one of us? J.D. and Vin will go to the wall to bring a foundering friend in to a safe port while Nathan and Buck simply search to bring a fugitive to justice. Josiah and I do a little of both hoping against hope that we'll find him and this mess will soon be cleared up.

It's been taxing on J.D. and Vin as they still recover, hard on Nathan, Buck and Josiah who have taken up the slack. I ride them hard to keep them all going...past the point of exhaustion...past the point of common sense. We need to find him before someone else does. Accidents happen and the FBI agents out of Virginia look especially accident-prone. I'm sure by now they're wondering where we all got off to. We head back to the motel for breakfast and some much needed sleep.

Buck

I partner up with Chris and the kid. It's been three days now and we don't go out alone anymore...too visible to the creatures of the night. We've asked too many questions, searched the same places over and over again. A young girl, high on crank, tells us about this place, an abandoned apartment complex just this side of Compton. Says she remembers a guy there fitting Ezra's description so we're standing by the cars in the cool night air, flashlights in hand, ready to enter the crumbling buildings on the word of a girl who'd probably tell me she'd seen my long dead Aunt Fanny there if I flashed enough cash.

Nathan passes out the latex gloves and then takes off with J.D.. I hope to hell I don't get stuck 'cause crack vials and spent needles are everywhere, so are makeshift beds. The place is deserted 'though a fire burns in a 55 gallon drum and pot and cigarette smoke lingers in the air. As we go further in, the overpowering stench of rotten flesh fills my nostrils. Fuck! I look at Chris through the gloom and he nods in J.D.'s direction. I send the kid back to Josiah, who waits at the trucks, to get evidence bags. Probably won't need 'em but I just want him outta here 'til we find out what crawled in here and died.

It's a cat, just outside a doorway and fresh outta lives. J.D. comes back and we continue searching through the crap. Lord knows I'm not a finicky man but searching through garbage filled and piss soaked buildings is getting to me, big time. I can't believe anyone would choose this way of life. Then again, maybe it chooses them.

Ezra

I detest the cold. I have always detested the cold. I shiver so hard that the muscles beneath my jaw cramp. Where is the warmth? The soft warmth, like a lover's kisses, up my arm and down into my body, into my legs. That's right. I have no more money and the heroin has run out. They are all gone now, moving like a flock of carrion to some other soul with the goods. Mine are gone...used up quickly when others are around to share. They will return soon enough, to this impromptu whorehouse/shooting gallery, drugged out vampires ready to feed on the heroin, crank and each other.

I feel another cramp coming...this time in my intestines...but I have passed everything out of my body leaving nothing but the pain. I fall over on my side and pull my knees into my chest, girding for it. I am barely breathing now, shallow breaths around the pain. 'Get up and walk it off' the others tell me but how does one walk off pain that feels as if someone is tearing the very skin off of one's body?

I push myself back up; spitting out the filth that has found it's way into my mouth and look down at my once immaculate suit, blackened with filth, the front stiff with dried vomit. Seeing my reflection in a broken piece of mirror, my skeletal hands shake uncontrollably as I push long, greasy hair from my eyes and wonder how much lower I can go? From the look of the animal peering back at me and the feel of my erratically beating heart, I can go no lower nor last much longer. The eyes in the mirror have already died. Can my body be far behind?

I think of the many who have gone before me, the two who shine so brightly in my mind's eye and I feel the tears start to fall. Where the moisture comes from I do not know. I stopped drinking and eating well before the heroin ran out. I cannot stop these tears though; I am not strong enough to wear the masks anymore, not strong enough to keep my emotions at bay. There is no one here to see me anyway, just two men silently rummaging through the trash that fills this place.

I close my eyes again only to feel rough hands hauling me to my feet. I can no longer stand on my own and feel the support of two people, one on either side of me. My eyes refuse to open, to let me see those who are surely bent on doing me harm. My heart is racing even faster than before if that's possible...then... nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

Nathan

I found him. I look across Ezra's slumped head at Vin and know that my face must mirror his. Panic, almost terror, as we half carry, half drags him to the Expedition. I'm scared that we're too late. It's taken us ten weeks to find him and we may well be ten minutes too late.

The two of us push Ezra gently into the back seat. He's easy to wrestle around, doesn't seem to weigh more than a kid now but looks like an old man. I know he's unconscious and I've never been more thankful. I couldn't bear to look him in the eyes, to let him know I've seen him filthy, bloodied and beaten. The smell alone is nauseating and I don't think I could keep that from showing in my face.

I watch as Chris, J.D. and Buck make their way out of the other tenement and come trotting over. Josiah is by the Durango calling ahead to the nearest hospital from his cell phone. Vin tries to head off J.D. but can't stop him from stickin' his head into the back of the SUV. I know the boy fully expected to see his friend and co-worker sitting there smiling at him. I hear a strangled noise caught deep in his throat. Vin pulls him back out of the car and hugs him tightly. J.D. can't speak, he can't move.

I can't do anything for Ezra; he needs a hospital...now...and our prayers. I see Chris opening his mouth to protest but even he can see Ezra's in dire straits. Although we had discussed trying to keep everything under wraps at his ranch, I know the man is too far out of my reach medically and maybe too far gone even for a well-staffed ER.

Vin pushes Ezra's legs further in and sits down beside him, pulling the unconscious man into a sitting position. He wraps his arm protectively around the bony shoulders and Ezra's head comes to rest on his shoulder. Josiah sits next to me in the passenger seat barking out instructions. I can't seem to remember how to start the SUV. The big man slaps a bubble light on the roof and we take off, the Durango right on my ass. I can see Chris' face in my mirror. It looks like stone.

Chris

I cannot fucking believe this! God damn you, Ezra, God damn you! I can't believe the anger that wells up in me, threatening to drown me. I feel this way when I'm helpless and that's the way I feel at this moment...if not most of the time with him. Helpless against his fortifications, his caustic wit, his seeming indifference, the way he freezes a body out. I, too, feel beaten, bloodied going up against his defenses again and again, the walls he builds around himself. He's a busy one all right, erecting thicker, stronger walls to replace each one we breach.

Only Vin seems to be able to pass through the barriers at will and talk face to face with the man behind. He warned me that Ezra was in too deep but I wanted to get that bastard Cain so bad I could taste it. I couldn't let him come out and, after awhile, Cain wouldn't let him go. J.D. saw it too, telling me Ez was lookin' bad and talkin' crazy the last time they were able to have any contact with him. Before that sadistic son of a bitch took my undercover man to hell with him.

The fucker kept Ezra with him night and day. Running Vin and J.D. off at the point of a gun. That's when Vin saw it, Ezra begging to come out, not with his voice but with his eyes. But things were in motion and I wanted the kill. I know now that trying to get the prick wasn't worth what Ezra's gone through, what we've all gone through, what we will still go through to see this through to the end. I should have listened to my men.

Vin

I saw it in his eyes. God, his eyes. They been hauntin' me for weeks. I lay my head back on the headrest and remember his eyes. One minute they were pleading, the next confused, drug dead. I saw Ez fadin' away right before ma eyes. Ma friend, twisted and jacked up by Cain and his drugs. Told us to get the fuck out. His words were tough but I saw his scared eyes. That scumbag Cain was usin' his power over 'im, over us all, forcin' J.D. 'n' me out leaving Ezra unprotected, alone. We hadda leave 'im; hadda follow orders. Cain would've killed us otherwise. J.D. was all for turnin' around and blastin' our way back in. Kid's probably going crazy 'bout now. Maybe we shoulda done something, anything to keep 'im from endin' up like this.

J.D.

I knew we shouldn't have left him; we shoulda gotten him out of there. I told Vin, I told Chris, I told everybody but who listens to a "kid". I may not have much experience but I know when someone's goin' down for the third time. It was like Cain had his hand in Ezra's back workin' him like a puppet, tellin' us that our services were no longer needed. Cain's people would keep him safe until the buy. Still playing the game even though they probably knew we were ATF all the time. Either Cain's one smart S.O.B. or someone on our end screwed up big time and gave us bad intel.

Maybe someone turned us, set us up. I think Cain knew it all the time, knew who we were, that smug smile always on his face and things comin' together so easy. He was probably just messing with us all along.

God, my shoulder hurts. My leg's bouncin' a mile a minute and Buck's usin' all his will power to not punch me in the thigh so I'll stop. Instead he puts his arm around me and hugs me fiercely, takin' care not to hurt my shoulder. God, I'm so thankful for a friend like him.

Buck

I don't know what J.D.'s gonna do if he dies. What we're all gonna do if he dies? Even though he shot the kid and Vin, I don't wish him dead. Maybe I did at first but now that I see him so fucked up, I wouldn't wish this on anyone. Since that day in Purgatorio I've half-assed thought about shooting him myself. He gunned down two of us but he's so messed up now I wonder if he even remembers that he did it much less why?

Maybe he's been usin' to help forget what he did to us? I don't know if I can ever forgive or forget. Trust him again? I don't know that either. It'll be hard, real hard. Vin and J.D. are both shining examples of true goodness, neither one having any animosity toward the man, satisfied to wait for Ezra to vindicate himself. Hell, I hope he does, otherwise he never deserved friends like these two boys. As for me, I truly have my doubts. I know how money and power and drugs can entice a man. Plenty of good cops have turned darksider with less incentive.

I feel the kid shakin' in my arms. If only to spare J.D. more suffering, I hope Ezra pulls through. Maybe Josiah will put in a good word with the man upstairs. He seems to always be on speakin' terms with the Almighty.

Josiah

I don't always agree with his motives or his methods but he's basically a good man. There has to be a good explanation for what has come to pass and I think Cain is the key. It's been touch and go since we brought him to the emergency room but these doctors are doing their damnedest to keep him alive. Beside the infection, dehydration, irregular heartbeat and a plethora of other problems, they have to deal with the heroin and his psychotic episodes. We'll be leaving him here until he's fit to travel. A couple of FBI agents will fly out and escort him back to a drug rehab hospital in Denver. They have jurisdiction now. The bastards will probably go for the glory. They're welcome to it. There's no glory in bringing in Brother Ezra.

Ezra

I have the same dream again and again. This is a new hospital, a new room but it's the same dream. I don't know how I get to Purgatorio; I'm just there. My skin is on fire, ants crawling beneath it biting the bloody masses of muscle in my arms, my legs, everywhere. Then the voice is there with me.

"Our father, Who art in heaven..."

'Kill them!'

"Hallowed be thy name..."

'Will the pain go if I do?'

"Thy kingdom come..."

'Yes!'

"Thy will be done..."

'How will I know them?'

"on earth as it is in heaven.'

'You just will.'

"Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses..."

Two men round the corner. They hesitate momentarily when they see me. They both smile and speak but I cannot understand either of them. They start to hurry toward me. Bile rises in my throat, burning. I know for a certainty that they will kill me if I let them. Suddenly they are still, one face up on the sidewalk, the other against the wall of the building. Something heavy falls from my hand clattering noisily on the cracked sidewalk.

"as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation,"

Buildings start to flash by me out a window and I taste rubber in my mouth, feel the pinprick, the tear of my skin. He was right; the pain is gone. Is it a dream? A memory?

"but deliver us from evil. Amen."

Josiah

I watch Ezra lie here in this hospital, eyes shut. I don't know what else to do so I pray. I pray aloud for strength, for answers, for a miracle. I can't believe God would further forsake a tortured soul like Ezra Standish. I know Nathan and Buck both believe he's just a cop gone bad, a would-be murdering junkie. But three months ago he was a fine, upstanding agent, doing a good job. He was our friend. He would have taken any number of bullets for any one of us. Lord, why are you testing him? Why are you testing me? Testing all of us?

His eyes open and I think I see a small spark of recognition. Is that a smile? I just can't tell. Maybe I'm praying too hard for a miracle. His eyes close again. I check to see if he's still breathing, like a mother checks on her baby when he lies so quiet in his crib. They pulled him from death's door at the hospital in California...but did they do him a favor?

Chris

I hate places like this. God, the smell of it. Disinfectant barely covering the ever-present smell of piss. My boots echo as I walk down the deserted hallway. It's rainin' out and my duster rustles quietly in the silence. This hospital is different. No bustling nurses or concerned family members, no gift shop or cafeteria. Just room after room with a common area stuck in the middle now and then. The place where all the crazies get together to weave baskets. I hear screaming and know I'm heading in the right direction. Detox.

Ezra's room is number seven. The door is painted puke green like the walls. The only thing out of place is the armed FBI agent sitting in a chair by the door, standard procedure when you're under arrest for the attempted murder of two federal agents. Bet those good old boys of Ezra's back at the Bureau are getting a kick out of this. I flash my credentials and the guard checks his list of authorized visitors, then grunts.

Signing in I drop the clipboard back on the small desk that's evidently been set up expressly for the prick to put his feet up on. I hand over my Colt and look through the window, ignoring the asshole's "cowboy" comment. Two pieces of thick glass with wire mesh pressed in between. In the small room there's a bed with a blanket covered figure, two chairs and a small sink.

I push open the door and a different smell hits me full in the face. Sweat. Not the clean sweat of a healthy workout but the sickly sweet smell of sweat laced with drugs. He's been bathed and is clean-shaven now. Looks more like a skinny boy than the man I knew. So thin, cheeks and closed eyes sunken. His hands and legs are secured to the bed with leather straps with synthetic lamb's wool inside but still his bone thin wrists are red. One of his legs is also shackled to the bed's metal side. His fingers twitch constantly.

I pull up one of the chairs and sit next to the bed. I slip my fingers into those twitching hands and touch his palm. His fingers close tightly around mine, the way my son's did when he was a baby. A groan escapes his cracked lips. He must be dreaming again.

I sit with him for an hour or so. He's out the whole time. I have things to take care of back at the office and Buck's on his way in. I don't feel too bad about leavin' him. Buck's still on the fence but at least he won't be alone.

Buck

I walk by Chris on the steps of the hospital where we only nod in passing. When it comes to this whole cluster fuck, the two of us find it hard to talk. Other cases and other days, things go on but not as usual. We retreat into ourselves, here at the hospital and sometimes back at work, especially when one of us spends too much time lookin' at Ezra's empty desk.

I don't know how the others feel but I'm pissed. Maybe it would have been better if the doctors had just let him go instead of resuscitating him...so this nightmare could end. None of us can do his job. We snap and snipe at one another. We're all rubbed raw and the SAC and the FBI and the courts are gonna start pickin' at the scabs soon makin' us bleed all over again. I look at the man I once considered my friend and see a stone cold junkie who tried to kill two of my closest friends. What the fuck am I doing here?

Vin

I can't figure out what he's doin' here? He all but hates Ez now. Can't seem to get by what he sees as betrayal. Refuses to even look past and find the reasons. They're so quick to believe the worst but I saw his eyes, the silent plea. Chris and the department ignored my warnin's. No one stood by 'im. We let 'im sink so far in; we couldn't get 'im back out without blowing his cover and getting all of us whacked. Somehow he managed to get away by himself, but after what? What could drive a man to turn on his friends? Why'd ya shoot J.D.? Why'd ya shoot me, pard?

I check in with the fed and he demands my firearm. I pull the Smith 699 outta the holster in the small of ma back. He smiles a snotty smile. What'd the jerk-off think? That I haul my Score High Custom around with me everywhere I go? I flip 'im off and push the door open motioning for Buck to stay put. I pull up the other chair next to 'im and ask 'im the same question. Why?

Buck has his own answers, his own reasons. The lure of easy money 'n' drugs, maybe revenge, maybe even power. Cain's organization is more powerful than we knew. Maybe Ezra wanted a piece of it an' sold his soul to the devil to get it. Maybe it was just to get his next fix. Buck shakes his head sadly not really knowin'.

Ezra's been so anti drugs that I can't imagine 'im startin' a $1000.00 a day habit on his own. The docs said they never saw a body so fucked up on so many drugs and still breathin'. Don't know if he'll ever be right again. Won't know if he has AIDS for a 'nother couple a months. I know it was the drugs Cain used that turned Ez to the dark side...as J.D. likes to say. I think a the goofy kid an' laugh, the muscles the bullet tore up hurtin' a bit.

A nurse comes in, checks Ez's vitals and injects methadone into the line. Exchanging one drug for another. When he's stronger, he'll have to go cold turkey. She hangs another bag a goo on the hooks. Ez does look better, startin' to fill out a little. Only looks like death warmed over now. Wakes up every now and than, mostly when they clean the infections on his arms or draw blood for tests. He don't seem to know me or where he is. Doesn't speak. They think he's still sufferin' from drug induced paranoid schiz...whatever the fuck it's called. He could be this way forever. Buck an' me stay a while longer, then walk out in silence. There ain't nothin' to say.

Nathan

I don't carry my gun when I'm off duty. The FBI agent looks at me like I'm some kind of pussy. He's a big, southern, good ol' boy with no neck. Looks at me like I'm not fit to clean his shoes. I wish I did have my gun with me so I could see his expression when I shove it up his nose. What is it with some Southerners, like this jackass...like Ezra? The wars over and we've been freed for Christ's sake. What a dick.

I see our very own 'Cracker' lyin' in the hospital bed. The FBI agent has put me in a foul mood and seein' Ezra doesn't make it any better. I stand next to the bed staring down at him, the man it's taken us almost three months to find. A veritable vegetable now, his body ravaged by drugs and infection, a list of charges as long as my arm to be filed against him. Why'd you turn away from us? Why'd you shoot J.D. and Vin? And for what, Ezra? Was all this about fucking money?

I leave after only a few minutes, the guard surprised to see me going so soon. I stomp down the hall toward the entrance thankful I don't have a dog. I'd kick the shit out of it if I did.

J.D.

I tell the FBI agent I'm here to see Ezra Standish. John Dunne. He smirks and runs his finger down the list. I can see the others have come and gone. He checks his watch and writes the time next to my name. Tells me to sign in and to leave my P-35 on the desk. I'm almost afraid to open the door but the goddamn FBI agent is leaning back in his chair, watchin' me. Well, fuck you buddy! I go inside.

There's all kinds of tubes and wires connected to him. His arms and legs are strapped down. He watches me as I come nearer to the bed, not Ezra's usual unreadable stare; more like a deer caught in headlights. He's scared shitless.

"Ez, it's okay. It's me, J.D.," I tell him. His breathing picks up; he's almost panting now, his hands pulling at the straps. One of the monitor blips starts jumpin' all over the screen and a sound comes out of him I'll never forget as long as I live. Kinda' like the high-pitched keening of an animal is serious trouble. Ez's in trouble and I think I'm the cause. I start to back away lifting my hands to show him I don't mean him any harm. Sweat starts to roll between my shoulder blades and down my back. Fuck! What do I do now?

A nurse opens the door and comes in moving quickly around me. She has a syringe in her hand and loads it into the tube stuck in the vein on the top of his hand. The ungodly noise stops and his eyes close. Why are they givin' him more drugs?

Why'd he react like that to me? The others never mentioned anything like it happenin' to them. The nurse tells me he's been out almost the whole time he's been here, since they brought him in from DIA. This is the first day he's been awake for any length of time she adds. Why'd he cry out like that? I wanna know. She tells me he's afraid and I let her know he's never been afraid of anything in his life and if he was he'd never show it.

She then says he has paranoid delusions...from the drugs he's been injectin'. "He didn't take them on his own!" I say and she looks at me like she's heard it all before but tells me it's nice that I have faith in my friend. She wonders about the others. She's heard the talk...especially the FBI agents. They want to hang him out to dry...but I'm not gonna let it happen.


	3. Chapter 3

Chris

I can hold Cain for 24 hours without charging him but then I have to let the dirt bag go if we get nothing from him. It's worth a try. Drop a few hints, tell him a few lies, stay just this side of the law, sweat him good. We all take turns. Can't play good cop, bad cop. No volunteers for good cop.

Cain

I love this! I fucking love this! Seein' the sweat soaking those funeral clothes Larabee always wears. He's so pissed he can hardly see straight. And that big goon Sanchez, he looks like he wants to tear me apart with his bare hands. But I got my rights. It's been twenty-four hours and I ain't said a word. I could even catch some sleep in between interrogations. Now I'm waitin' for my fuckin' lawyer. Five hundred dollars an hour. You'd think he'd be down here with fuckin' bells on to get me on the clock.

So they found that schmuck, Standish. So what? I'm not worried. That guy was toast way before he disappeared, a real psycho. I still can't believe what a stupid motherfucker Larabee is. Sending his bad boys in to set me up. He think I wouldn't know when I'm being set up? I can smell a Fed a mile away. Oh, they're good all right...only I'm better. Besides, I know the workings of this place inside and out. Pays to spread a little cash around. A little cash? Hell, a whole lotta cash. These cops practically want benefits and a pension for bein' on the take for Christ's sake.

Charge me with attempted murder of a federal agent. That's good. More like the attempted murder of a psycho who shot his own men. Standish was practically a drooling idiot when I got through with him. I bet Larabee would be surprised at how his hand picked FBI agent took to the junk, like a duck to water. It was beautiful. Hell, we only had to tie him down and shoot him up for three days before he was tying himself off and shooting up like a real pro.

I still can't believe all the shit we pumped into him. He must have the mother of all habits. Would have been a good investment, too, if those two motherfuckers had died. Fucked 'em up pretty good though and, with the others lookin' for the loser, things have cooled down enough for me to transact a little business with my amigos in South America.

Yeah, I knew Standish would love the stuff. I could see it in his eyes when the pissant and the other two clowns showed up. People with sad eyes always like horse. Dulls the pain of rememberin'. Heroin was made for sad people. I count on it.

The other drugs, they ain't for no one, sad, glad or indifferent. My drug man, a guy known only as 'the Chemist', told me that shootin' Standish up with a little would make him spill his guts. He told me everything I wanted to know. Pump him full of the crap, hold back his next fix and he'll say anything, do anything. Anything! Keep him shootin' up and the other stuff only gets worse.

It was fun watchin' him, so smooth and sure of himself at first, then a shivering, crying, begging piece of crap. I almost put a bullet in his head myself he was so pathetic. Wish Larabee could'a seen his boy. I loved fuckin' with him, showin' him pictures of the others, tellin' him they was gonna kill him if he didn't kill 'em first, watchin' the fear take hold.

And 'The Chemist', what a sadistic motherfucker he turned out to be, reachin' right into Standish and ripping out his soul. The Fed didn't even know who he was when we dropped him off at the longhaired fag's place in that shit-hole Purgatorio. He was like a fuckin' robot, with places to go and people to kill. If that dumb fuck Hayes hadn't let him get away I know I could've gotten him to kill the others and then blow his own fuckin' brains out.

I'm tired of this fuckin' bad cop-badder cop routine. The others are lined up outside to take another crack at me but I see my lawyer staring down the ATF bad asses. Larabee will never pin this on me. He can't tie me to anything illegal in this state includin' the murder of his wife and brat. Much as I'd like to have pulled that one off I can't take the credit.

Thank God, Dumont's finally here. Now I can go upstairs, give my statement and get the fuck outta here and see about suein' thr shit outta these bastards.

Chris

I refuse to sign the papers, damn it! I'm not convinced my man went rogue of his own volition and I'm not about to terminate him until I'm sure. If any of this is Ezra's own doing I'll crucify him myself. The doctors don't know if he's ever coming back from where he is now. He may end up a raving lunatic, forever lost in the bowels of some institution and, if I don't sign the discharge papers, the department picks up the tab for as long as he lives.

I also refuse to call Maude. Everyone says she has a right to know but Ezra has a right to be protected from Mommy Dearest. I'm his family right now; we're his family. I have his power of attorney and will do my damnedest to keep him from any more harm.

The Jag's on its way back from California and his rent's been paid. I'm paying his other bills to keep the wolves at bay. Now if I can only keep IAD away from the door. They've come up with some pretty damaging testimony straight from the jackal's mouth as it were. Cain puked his imagination all over them. It looks pretty grim for Ezra. Judge Travis is reading Cain's statement right now.

Orin

I can't believe this man is demanding charges be filed against Agent Standish and the others. I love good fiction and this is 100% pure, grade A, bullshit! Says, after a week of negotiating what he thought was a legitimate business deal, Standish told him who he really was and tried to cut a deal with him. For a large sum of money, instead of busting him, Ezra would help trap Chris Larabee and the others in their own sting. Standish would return to ATF headquarters, set up the buy and feed the needed information back to Cain, allowing the others to walk right into a trap. Here's where it gets good.

Being the fine upstanding citizen he is Cain tells Ezra he has absolutely no idea what he's talking about. He's not in the gun or drug business, not now, not ever, and threatens to turn him over to the authorities. Ezra threatens to kill him and Cain insists the agent was escorted to the gates of the compound and booted out, in perfect health. Nothing matches, not the times, days or dates. This whole thing is hinky but as much as I hate to I have to accept this as the truth until Agent Standish is able to make his own statement. I have no reason to continue to hold Cain. I have to let the bastard go and add to the mountain of charges already filed against Agent Standish.

Vin

I guess you could call it a promotion a sorts. 'Stead of one guy guardin' Ezra, now there's two. I walk on up to the good ol' boys and say howdy wonderin' if the dingy hall lights are hurtin' their eyes 'cause both of 'em are wearin' sunglasses.

One's the no-neck dickhead we all want to knock into next week. New one's just about as big, with a crew cut that makes his head look like a block a wood sittin' on his thick neck. He's wearin' a gun bigger 'n the meanest bad ass in ATF. Must be fresh in from Quantico'd be my guess.

I go through the signin' in bullshit and hand over my piece. Sonny boy snorts. I just shrug. I ain't never had a case of firepower envy and, as Buck always says, 'What separates the men from the boys in law enforcement as well as love is the skill a the shooter, not the size a the gun.

The stink of the room hits me full on when I go inside. There's windows but they're bolted shut, the glass painted over. Ez is layin' on the same small bed, flat on his back, arms still strapped down, leg still cuffed to the frame. His eyes are closed and a shiver runs through 'im. Blood trickles down the side of his mouth where he's bitten his lip. I grab my bandanna and wipe most of it away. He opens his eyes and his face gets even whiter, if that's possible. He's coming back to us now but it's a mean trip.

He recognizes me and hisses out the word "no". He closes his eyes again, shakin' his head back and forth, repeatin' the word. Suddenly he bucks up pulling on the restraints. I can only imagine what it must be like to be havin' such pain and not be able to wrap your arms around your gut 'til it passes. Hell, he can't even wipe his nose!

I unbuckle the restraints, pick the cuff lock and pull 'im up to sit next to me on the bed. "Vin" is all he can croak out before more pain hits 'im and he holds on for all he's worth, rockin' back and forth. "Yeah, it's me, pard," I tell 'im and wipe his face, his nose. "You musta been havin' an off day. Bullet only nicked me."

"Oh, God" he says through chatterin' teeth. The room is stinkin' and hot as Hades but Ezra's freezin' in his hospital duds. I watch his eyes. He's checkin' me for a piece. I don't worry 'bout me, Ez'd never hurt me again...but I can see desperation in those eyes now. He'd splatter his brains all over the wall in a New York minute if he could get his hands on a gun.

A nurse walks in, clipboard in hand, shootin' daggers my way with her eyes. "Mr. Standish is to be restrained at all times," she says headin' our way. One thing ma Momma taught me 'fore she died was to always be polite to women so I ask her to "PLEASE get away from me 'n' AGENT Standish and to PLEASE get the fuck outta the goddamn room". She's outta here in a shot...to squeal on me no doubt. Ez looks over at me, a tiny bit 'a sparkle in his eyes. "Thanks" he whispers, his throat raw and dry.

I help him to drink some a the juice that's been left on the tray table. He drinks like a man dyin' a thirst but not ten seconds later it's all back up...all over him, all over me. I get a towel and clean us up as best I can. I cover 'em with a blanket 'cause now he's shakin' somethin' fierce. I take a few ice chips from the glass and pop 'em into his mouth. They seem to do the trick. Takes 'bout a week for the worst a goin' cold turkey to be over with.

The doctors and Chris want us to stay outta the way 'til it's over but I gotta few days a vacation left. What can they say if I call in and tell 'em I won't be in? That I'm sittin' up with a sick friend.

Ezra

I cannot take much more of this. I am more than ready to check out. I now know why it is called cold turkey. I am so cold, so very cold. Mr. Tanner is here. He is not a ghost. He is real, very much alive, and here with me. He tries to keep a blanket on me but I shiver it off again and again. It hurts my skin, like a blanket made of ice. I almost shake the poor man off the bed begging for something to drink all the while. He keeps helping me to drink; I keep vomiting it back up on him.

I cannot stop the events set into motion, the shedding of the drugs, the return of my memories and the smothering guilt. I would if I could. I would stop it all right now. I would kill myself if I had the means. I would find the nearest dealer, shoot up until I could not see straight, put the barrel of my Sig in my mouth and pull the trigger. And I would do it with great joy in my retched heart.

I wrap my arms around myself when the pain comes again. My head spins. Vin tucks the blanket under my chin. He talks to me, his voice soothing. He speaks of our past together. That is all we have now...a past. If I do not go to prison for what I have done, I am leaving as soon as I am able. The ties that once bound have been severed, shot cleanly through. I see him touch his abdomen from time to time, right where I shot him. I am a loose cannon and a drug addict, fine qualities for an ATF agent. No one will trust me enough to work with me again. Hell, I do not even trust myself not to get fixed up as soon as I leave here.

Another wave of pain washes over me. Vin wipes my face. Sweat streams from my pores and snot from my nose...a pretty picture indeed. I cannot take the degradation and having him here is so very painful. I think he realizes the pain his visit causes but he stays, as uncomfortable as it may be for him, too. I know he is not a vindictive man, he is only trying to help but it is punishing for me to have him here.

He speaks again of old times. We do have a long, rocky history. Three years of working together, bringing bad guys to justice, shooting and being shot at but I now bring new meaning to 'Watch your back'.

J.D.

I'm not supposed to be here. Neither is Vin but I see him through the window holdin' Ezra as he thrashes around on the bed. I guess neither of us wants him to go through this alone. I step back from the glass when the picture of him shooting me flashes through my mind...again. He shot us!

Vin was hurt far worse than me but he ignored Chris' order to stay away and came anyway. So did I. I want to believe it was all a terrible mistake. Buck and Nathan's distrust of Ezra's motives makes me wonder sometimes. Maybe he can tell me something now. I need to know or I think I'll go nuts.

Vin looks up at me when I come inside. A look of surprise then genuine relief crosses his face. Ezra's eyes are red rimmed and bloodshot. He looks at me. It takes him a minute to recognize me. His mouth opens to form words but nothin' comes out. He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall. Maybe he still thinks I'm dead.

Vin motions for me to take a chair and I sit heavily wondering what to do next. Ezra's face pales and he grimaces in pain. Vin has him hold onto his forearm and squeeze. I can see when the wave passes and he sags against the wall again. "Let's get you up and walkin' a bit, pard", Vin says.

Vin scoots off the bed and pulls Ezra upright. I see where I can help and take his other arm. It's locked tight as another wave of pain comes, then goes. We walk him back and forth across the small room. Walkin' him through the pain, the sickness. Ezra looks over at me, his eyes again unreadable. "I'm sorry, J.D." I hear it. It's a whisper but I hear it.

"'S'okay", Ezra I tell him and he says "No, it's not". "I know you didn't mean it", I say and then I see his eyes full of guilt. "I think I did". It's another whisper but it hits me like a punch in the gut. Ezra meant to shoot me! He tried to kill me!

"I gotta go!" I say and drop Ezra's arm and the two of 'em almost fall. "J.D.!" It's Vin callin' after me but I gotta go. If I stay I'm gonna puke.

I run out the door and Buck pushes away from the corridor wall where he's been slouchin', waitin' for me. He grabs my arm as I try to run past him. "J.D., what is it, son?" he asks and I turn to my best friend in the world and see the concern wrinkling his forehead. "He said he meant to do it". I didn't mean to tell him, it just came out.

Buck

I am so fuckin' pissed I see red. It _is_ possible. I push my way past the asshole FBI agent and strong-arm the door. It rockets back slamming into the wall, spraying plaster on the floor. "You mother fuckin' son of a bitch!" I yell and yank Ezra up off the bed. Vin tries to intervene and I throw his arm off of me. My fist hits Ezra square in the face, bustin' that pretty nose of his.

Vin jumps me, pushin' me back toward the door, his eyes angry and determined. I look at him. He's red. Everything I see is still red. "Buck, you sorry assed son of a bitch! Get the fuck outta here!" he yells. It's the maddest I've ever seen him. I outweigh him by forty pounds but he slams me up against the wall. I just want one more crack at the bastard but now somebody has me by the collar yankin' me back through the doorway. Somebody strong and really pissed off.

Chris

"I thought I made it clear that this hospital is off limits!" I yell as loud as I can to try and break through Buck's blind anger. Vin stands fast on the other side of the door. I know I won't be able to get Vin to leave but I do manage to manhandle Buck toward the hospital entrance.

"He did it on purpose. The miserable fuck meant to kill Vin and the kid." Buck is like a mother bear protecting her cub, tryin' to push his way around me. I see two huge orderlies running toward us. They restrain Buck with a choke hold. "Just get him outta here!" I shout and the three of them head toward the admissions desk. I rake my hands through my hair. Fuck, they're all disintegrating right before my eyes. Will we ever be the cohesive, crack team we once were? It doesn't look good to say the least.

I want to wipe the smirk of the FBI agents' faces as I pass by them again and enter the room. Ezra's on the floor, his hands to his face, blood seeping between his fingers. Son of a bitch! Vin stalks to the sink and wets a towel. I sit down next to Ezra and pull his hands down so Vin can put the towel on his battered face to try and stop the bleeding. Vin's jaw muscles are workin' a mile a minute as he tilts Ezra's head back. "What the fuck just happened, Cowboy?" I wanna know. "Told J.D. he mighta shot 'im on purpose," Vin says but how the hell can he know what he did or why he did it? Until a few days ago, he didn't even remember his own fuckin' name.

Ezra

"I remember now. It has been two week since I went cold turkey and, God, I remember it all. Two or three men forcing me down into a metal chair…pulling my arms down and duct taping them to the arms…taping my legs to the chair legs."

"I remember the smell...acrid ... burning my nose and throat. And the needle. Jesus a needle wielded by a man called the Chemist. So ugly…always whispering…whispering in my ears…later inside my head. Duct tape on my mouth. I am suffocating. My heart is pounding; sweat runs down my back and ribs. I cannot get enough air through my nose."

"The Chemist holds a syringe up in front of my face and laughs. His laugh is even a whisper as the needle slips deep into my vein and blood backwashes into the cloudy liquid. I scream in my head and he looks me right in the eyes as if hearing me."

"Suddenly all is well. I feel good…better than good...euphoric and all of them laugh and nod. They are all in on the joke. My head falls forward and I see a small rivulet of blood and a welt on my arm. I am fascinated for a few seconds. That is as long as I can hold a thought. I feel so good, so incredibly good. I sit in the chair for what seems to be only a few minutes but my muscles are cramping painfully. And there are more welts and trickles of blood...on both my arms now. I never see them when they come… never hear them…only a faint whispering in my head."

"They release me from the chair and I am allowed to shower. There is a change of clothes waiting for me. I meet with Vin and J.D. out front. They need to go, to stay away or Cain will kill them! I try to play my part. I cannot let them know he knows everything, more than everything. I cannot let them know what he is doing to me. Vin starts to object but I pull rank and order them to back off, to leave me there, at the estate. Cain will guarantee my safety."

"They do as they are told, reluctantly, but they go. I hope to God they report back to Mr. Larabee and figure a way to extricate me from this living nightmare. Before I can look for some means of escape, I am back in the chair. Mr. Larabee does not come. No one comes for me…except the Chemist."

"I close my eyes and wait, wait for the warm, soothing feeling to come again, hopefully stronger and longer this time. But there is fire shooting up my arm now instead. I am certain my very flesh is burning and I open my eyes. There is nothing, only welts and oozing scabs. I can hear my heart beating, the whispers becoming shouts. The Chemist is moving in stop action. I do not want this feeling. I want the other."

"I close my eyes again. I am going to vomit. He knows what is happening to me and yanks the tape off. I vomit down the front of my shirt. He moves closer to me, pushing his face close to mine. I am gasping for air now, screaming at the top of my lungs but no sound comes forth. I feel his face next to mine…his burning skin on mine. I feel his face melting into mine. He has become part of me. I am terrified…so very frightened."

'They will not come for me now or ever. They want to kill me. He tells me this again and again. They want me dead. I believe him; believe everything he tells me. He is part of me now, knows everything about me, about them. I feel the tears running down my face. How can they betray me again and again? I do not want to die! I do not want to die!"


	4. Chapter 4

Chris

I punch the off button on the recorder. I can't listen anymore. I can't listen to the terror, the pain, I just can't. Vin's hand has been on my shoulder all the while but instead of offering comfort, his fingers grip me unmercifully. He's been using me to keep from falling down. After all this time, after all the speculation and accusations, after all the bullshit from within and without, this is what happened to the man. None of us can know how he feels. We certainly can't empathize with him. We can only listen.

Buck, who gives Ezra so little credit and Nathan, who has so little faith in Ezra's integrity, stare at the recorder as if it's a snake suddenly come to life on the table. Josiah, who usually never gets around to passing judgment at all, has his fingers steepled in front of him, his eyes closed. J.D., who always sees the best in everyone, has his head buried in his arms. I wondering if he'll leave the room but he hangs tough. And Vin, who championed Ezra from the start, lets out a whoosh of air and sits back down in his chair. I can already see the mental bruises on the man as he beats himself up for not charging to the rescue when it would have only gotten him killed.

I'll tell him over and over in the days to come but he won't listen. Sometimes I think he feels too much to be in this line of work. But no matter how tough and jaded a man is he would have to feel something listening to this tape. I feel sick but I push the play button again.

Ezra

"I have no sense of time. I may have been there for minutes, day or weeks. I just know that the euphoric feeling is gone now. There is only pain and the inordinate fear. Why am I so afraid? Someone wants me dead. That is not new but this is. Someone wants me dead, friends, co-workers. I could not get passed the one with the long hair, Vin. Convincing me that this man wanted to kill me took a very long time but I finally believed it."

'Believed all of it. And I knew that if I had to, I could shoot them all. I had to shoot them all in order to stay alive. I knew that if I could get far enough away they would not be able to find me, to kill me. I just needed more heroin. All the pain and fear would go if I could just get away and find more drugs.'

Chris

I stop the tape again and they all look to me. I look at Bainbridge from IAD who will make the decision on whether or not the charges will stand. "Sounds like intent. Could be construed as intent to commit murder," he mutters.

J.D.

I hear the IAD's words over and over in my head. Sounds like intent, sounds like intent. I'm on the verge of tears and I can't let them see me. I know they can twist his words to sound like intent but I know now he never meant to kill Vin or me...Cain did. He wanted us all dead, just wanted Ezra to do his dirty work for him. I wonder what the others are thinking?

Josiah

I hate this job more often than not. Hate the fact that we are almost always blind going into a bust; relying on crappy intelligence or the word of a drugged out snitch. We walked right into this one and Ezra took the hit for us. Cain knew exactly what he was doing. He fucked us royally. Only the grace of God, and the fact Buck was so near, kept Vin and J.D. from dying. That and Ezra's poor shooting. Pretty pathetic for a guy who scores expert on the range nine time out of ten. God does work in mysterious ways.

Vin

I listen to the tape and all I can think is how much I miss 'im. The way he used ta be, lookin' ya straight in the eye and dealin' from the bottom a the deck but always managin' to loose enough to make us even by game's end. I miss his smart-ass remarks and his bein' late all the time. I miss the way he gets into my files and 'punches up' my reports behind my back. "Gives 'em more of a 'bite'", he tells me. Givin' Chris fits tryin' to decipher 'em is more like it. Most of all I miss the way he'd sit along side a me in a quiet way, when nothin' needed to be said. I miss his friendship. When I can count my close friends on both hands, it hurts.

Nathan

I had no idea what Cain put him through. I guess I've always counted on Ezra's iron will and incredible self-control to make him invulnerable to the things that can fell the rest of us. I was wrong. Cain stripped it all away and rendered him powerless to even help himself. I'll never look at the man in the same way. I've never been comfortable with the affected snobbery or the inborn prejudice of the Southerner. We've never been close and maybe we never will...now. He'll never let me close if he thinks it's out of pity.

Buck

I am sorry. Man, I am so sorry. How can I make it up to him? How can I make things right again? I should have known he'd never betray us without some sort of outside influence. I am such a prick, always jumpin' to conclusions, always ready to kick the shit outta anyone I think is in the wrong, always wanting to believe the worst about him. Never givin' him the benefit of the doubt. Breakin' the man's nose for God's sake.

If he lets me, I'll make it right. Shit, it can never be right. Better, I'll make it better. For his sake, for the kid's sake. Who the fuck am I kidding? For my sake. So I can look in the mirror again and not see a class A douche bag starin' back at me.

Ezra

"I was finally released in Purgatorio and ran directly into Vin and J.D. I saw them smiling at me. I knew they were pleased to have found me because they could kill me right then and there. I pulled my gun and shot and the two of them went down. I knew that I had killed them both but instead of relief, I felt great remorse, quickly deadened by another shot. Heroin this time. When the car came to a stop at a red light, I grabbed the kit, jumped and ran."

"I ran for what seemed like hours because there was always someone behind me. The Chemist, ready to take me back, one of my team trying to kill me. Even when the streets were empty, I was convinced there was still someone behind me. I finally made it back to my place. I fixed again, showered and changed clothes. I grabbed the keys to my car, all the cash I had on hand and immediately headed for Five Points to score. Twice around the block and I had enough to get me headed west."

"You gentlemen can pretty much guess the rest of the story, my sixteen-week sojourn into hell and back."

Chris

I get up to answer the knock on the door. I left orders not to be disturbed but it's my secretary with a Fed-X package. Opening it I feel all eyes on me again. It's from the hospital. The toxicology report we've all been waiting for.

Most of what I read is dry, medical jargon and potentially damaging. The word heroin appears again and again. I let out the breath I've been holding and read aloud some of the paragraph explaining Ezra's psychosis.

"The direct result of the administration of psychotropic drugs... A potent mixture of chemicals that, when used with certain physical and mental stimuli, more often than not brain washing and torture, can cause a person to react in a contradictory and often extremely violent manor...Because the physical reaction is so severe and adverse, psychotropic drugs are not known to be self administered."

I see the changes taking place around the table right before my eyes. Vin's stoicism giving way to quiet anger, J.D.'s shoulders rise as he takes in a cleansing breath, Buck's resolution, albeit late, to think first before fucking up, Nathan's quiet acceptance of his error in judgment and Josiah's relief, believing the worst may be over. It's been rough, real rough. I feel a certain amount of relief but great trepidation all the same.

I'm glad Ezra has been vindicated. I don't believe IAD will let the charges stand but it'll be an uphill battle for him just the same, to stay off heroin, to regain his health, to be reinstated, to regain our trust, to trust us again. We all need to repair badly damaged friendships and working relationships. I see a lot of hard work ahead for all of us. Can he go undercover again? Can he regain his edge? I think he will, eventually...if he stays.

Ezra

I wish the department would assign me a different psychologist. A gruff old goat who does crosswords while I spill my guts. Not this gorgeous creature who has actually listened to every word I have said for the past five weeks. She makes me lose my train of thought and all track of time. She is the last hurdle to jump before I can return to active duty. Hurdle to jump. God yes, I'd like to jump her. Legs that go on forever, beautiful blue eyes behind horned rimmed glasses. Her eyes are looking at me now, expectantly. Shit! I know she just asked me a question but I was tangled up in her legs. "Could you please repeat the question?" I ask sheepishly.

Psychologist

I feel agent Standish is going to be fine. I should have been able to sign off on his return to active duty two weeks ago, but our sessions have gone on longer than I had anticipated, primarily because I have to repeat myself so often. He is still easily distracted.

I've read reams of case files on this man and know, that before the incident putting him on admin. leave and here in my office, he was dead bang on the mark. Consistent high marks in the performance of his duty, able to change identities and personas at will. Walking that fine line an undercover agent has to but still able to keep a strong sense of self, a strong sense of the job.

I've also talked at length to the others of Team Seven, especially the two shooting victims and, to a man, they have no qualms whatsoever about working with Agent Standish again, of placing their lives in his hands. I've never seen this before and wonder if I need to haul Chris Larabee and his Wild Bunch in here to find out just what makes them tick.

No unit has accepted a "tainted" member back so readily. I've had agents, with far less baggage than agent Standish; return to the field only to find that the trust that was once there is gone, never to return. Partnerships once based on fast friendships, no longer having the "glue" to hold them together. Team members doubting the returning members abilities, until he begins to doubt himself, tolling the end of a once promising career.

But these six men have no doubts as to Standish's ability to do the job again and no doubts about where his loyalty lies. Agents Vin Tanner and John Dunne have no doubt whatsoever as to 'what went down' with their co-worker and friend in the field and are anxious to work with him again.

Agent Standish himself has no doubts he will be able to pick up where he left off. He knows where his new boundaries are and won't cross or let himself be pushed over them. He does dread that first day back on the job but it's only natural for someone who's been torn away so ruthlessly from friends and co-workers...his family...for someone who's been gone for almost six months with only minimal contact with his teammates. But he needs to bite the bullet and face his fears. And he needs to stop staring at my breasts.

Ezra

I cannot stop staring at her breasts. Full and lush beneath those power suits she wears. But I cannot stretch these sessions out forever; I need to get back to work. The life of leisure is not what it's cracked up to be and if I am forced to see another 'B' movie like "The Return of the Killer Tomatoes", I know I shall go mad.

It has been interminable days of mindless television broken up by visits to my shrink and to the lab to relieve myself in a cup. I had better get used to the latter as I will be tested for drugs until I am off departmental probation. It is nothing personal I am told, just procedural bullshit.

I wonder what she is thinking? She has that half smile on her lips again as she writes something down. She closes her notebook and opens my file. It has got to be at least three inches thicker than it was. She signs something with a flourish, a finality. It is my paperwork allowing me to return to active duty. I do not know what to say.

I knew this day would come, that I would no longer need to see her on a weekly basis. Now, only when and if the need arises. She smiles; handing me my hard won paperwork and tells me to get out of her office and back to work. I shake her hand, holding it longer than necessary. Her perfume wafts over me as she shakes her head, long blond strands flowing.

I leave, making my way out of the building to where my car is parked. Thank you, Mr. Larabee. Sitting inside, I glance at the paperwork. In the corner under the paperclip is her business card with what I can only guess is her home phone number written on the back.

Ezra

I have been dreading this day for a long while, playing it out a million times in my mind. Here I go, Daniel into the lion's den, only without his unshakable faith in God. The bantering slowly stops as first one, then another notices I've come into the room. I feel like chucking it all and just leaving. I feel the way I felt every time I started in a new school. I have worked with these men for over three years yet I still feel like the new kid.

I surreptitiously look at the clock. I am late. No sense in setting a new precedence. Vin is the first up out of his chair. He walks slowly to where I am rooted to the spot. "Ez," he says smiling, his eyes bright, "Welcome back." The man is incapable of hiding his feelings. I know he is sincere and I feel great relief. "Vin, I..." I start but he stops me in mid sentence. It's done and over. He just squeezes my shoulder and saunters back to his desk. My eyes follow him and I see J.D. He is as paralyzed as I.

I need to make the first move, something I learned about my young colleague when we first met. I start for the back of the room and he is immediately up and out of his chair, meeting me half way. Everyone's there but I see only him. I need to make my peace with this man, too. When he reaches me he hugs me instinctively. I hug him back, a genuine hug. J.D.," I am so sorry." "I know ya didn't mean to do it," he says. "No, I never meant to."

Tears well up in my eyes, his too and he excuses himself and heads to the break room almost running into Josiah who is coming out with a cup of his odious office coffee.

"Brother Ezra," he states simply, "returned to the fold."

Returned to the fold…part of the group…a congregation of seven. I like the sound of it, the feel of it. He hands me the retched coffee and slaps me on the shoulder harder than need be. Coffee slops onto my shoes. "Sorry, Ezra". He winks and heads out of the bullpen on some such errand.

I see Nathan wipe his hand on his pant leg and start my way. We face each other, as always at great odds with our emotions, nothing unusual for this 'odd couple'.

"Ezra, welcome back." We shake hands and he steps a little closer. "My apologies," he says softly. I do not know what he has to apologize for but I am pleased to accept. He relaxes with relief and heads back to his lab, a smile on his face.

The foul drink still in my hand, I continue on and set it down on the only clear spot on my desk. It is covered with stacks, some 10 and 12 files high. I further notice that every desk surrounding mine is completely free of files or anything else that remotely resembles work and I hear the unmistakable sound of laser fire coming from J.D.'s computer terminal. This will not do. This will not do at all.

Buck crashes through the bullpen doors, two boxes of copy paper in his arms. The young woman in charge of delivering said paper follows in his wake, smiling up at him prettily. He drops the boxes and helps her load the copy machine. She leaves in a flurry of skirts and giggles. Buck spots me, the smile fading from his face. I need to set things right with him, too, before I can get back to some semblance of normalcy. He continues to stand near the copy machine. Good...more room.

I walk up to him and smile my best and most insincere smile and he extends his hand. I fist my right hand and punch out at him for all I am worth. I feel my knuckles collapse as I connect with his nose. Cartilage gives with an audible snap. He yelps as blood sprays from both nostrils. Tears spring to his startled eyes and he covers his nose trying to stop the flow.

"Seems we are now even, Mr. Wilmington," I say and extend my throbbing hand. He takes it in his, pumping heartily, smearing blood all over it. He smiles, teeth bloody.

"Man, Ezra!' Nathan says running up to us. "What'd ya wanna go and do that for?"

"Standish!" Chris Larabee is glaring from his office doorway. "You're late! Your ass! My office! Now!" He looks at Buck and a ghost of a smile plays on his lips. "Wilmington, stop bleeding all over the fucking carpet! Have Nathan take you to first aid! The rest of you, conference room in 15! We're goin' after Cain!"

I rub my hand and know that the first aid room will be my next stop, too, after my meeting with Mr. Larabee. "Fucking kids!" I hear him mutter as he retreats back into his office rubbing the back of his neck.

I sigh and head toward his office ready to accept my chastisement, laughter, long silent within me, bubbling to the surface. I think of these six men and what we've been through together and I think of the lesson lost on the unfortunate Mr. Cain. No matter how much things change, they still remain the same.

FIN

Thanks to all who took the time to stop by to read.


End file.
